


Disclaimer

by dorwinionwhining



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Banter, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21887098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorwinionwhining/pseuds/dorwinionwhining
Summary: Whose idea was this? Fingon: Depends on whether or not it works.
Relationships: Maedhros/Fingon
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	Disclaimer

**Author's Note:**

> You ever think about how the entire First Age was just filled to the brim with cousins and siblings squabbling with each other? I'm guessing Fingon and Maedhros were the Worst™ because not only do they get the cousin bickering but also the romantic banter. Anyway, this fic is just an excuse to write dialogue for them, but I hope you enjoy it. If you do, please consider leaving kudos or commenting on what you liked about it. Even a single word is enough to make my day and encourage me to keep writing.

“I have a feeling this plan of yours is less good than bad,” Fingon said, breath ghosting out in a cloud of steam against the cold air and hiding his sharp smile from view.

“Oh?” Maedhros asked. “So now it’s my plan?”

“For the moment.” Fingon shifted a little more of his weight onto his front foot, anticipating the fight to come. Maedhros both hated and loved that about him, how eager he was to throw himself into any and every conflict, how impatient he was whenever he was forced to wait.

“It can go back to being mine once it works,” he continued, and Maedhros rolled his eyes before he could stop himself.

Fingon must have seen him, because he laughed, the clear, bright sound ringing out and causing murmurs of confusion to spring up amongst their companies, arrayed behind them in various states of nervous anticipation.

Maedhros listened to them for a moment before telling him, “If I had a hand to spare, I would shove you.”

Fingon’s eyes sparkled, entirely unrepentant.

He waited until all of the murmurs died down and cautious silence resumed and then asked with false, conversational innocence, “It’s better for them to hear laughter than to hear tears, don’t you think?”

Maedhros’s cheek twitched. “Either one makes you sound as though you’ve taken leave of your senses.”

“But I haven’t,” Fingon said.

“Yes,” Maedhros agreed before continuing in the same breath, “You never had any to begin with.”

This time at least Fingon stifled his laughter, holding it inside his chest so that his shoulders shook but no sound escaped. Maedhros, who should have been watching the horizon with unwavering attention, stared at him instead, transfixed by how much he wanted to tackle him into the snow.

Either to kiss him or to put him in a headlock.

Eventually, Fingon said, “Well, maybe that’s a good thing. I’d hardly have agreed to your plan otherwise.”

Headlock, Maedhros decided.

He forcibly tore his gaze back to where it should have been the entire time and said with sarcastic finality, “And so we circle back to it being my plan, despite you having come up with nearly all of it.”

Fingon hummed in approval. “I’m holding you to that if it works.” A haze of red and black appeared at the farthest edge of Maedhros’s sight. “My plan, my victory.”

“We’ll see.”


End file.
